


First Impressions

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Domination, First Meetings, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>based on <a href="http://ohhellosugar.tumblr.com/post/32744182639"> this post</a></p>
    </blockquote>





	First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> based on [ this post](http://ohhellosugar.tumblr.com/post/32744182639)

Was this right?

Gavin frowned down at the little slip of paper. He’d just started working for these guys like, two days ago, and they already had him alone in a flat.

Maybe he should rethink his employment.

They said that he hadn’t met someone yet. Gave him the address and sent him on his way, adding a note that he should enter if no one answered.

And so he did. And here he was. Alone.

It was a simple place, really, though filled with little knickknacks of games and tv shows and a few ponies here and there.

Yeah, this seemed right.

He heard the door opening and whipped around to look at the person entering, apology ready on his tongue. The guy was shorter than him, a fluffy, darker ginger that gave him a rather harmless look.

“I’m Michael from Rooster Teeth,” he greets jovially, shutting the door behind him. Gavin opens his mouth, but he’s cut off when Michael drops his voice an octave lower, all kindness wiped from his face.

“And you just made the mistake of walking into my apartment.” The lock clicks, and the ginger smiles in a way that makes his blood runs cold, fused with fresh adrenaline.

_Oh my God. They’re psychopaths. He’s gonna kill me._

As he steps back, Michael steps forward, though keeps an equal distance.

“Gavin Free,” he croons, the name deliberately rolling off of his tongue, and the Brit swallows, making Michael take a bigger step, a closer distance, that dead-eyed smile still on his face.

“Er, I should get-” Gavin starts, and is cut short by the subtly but swiftly advancing man.

“What’s the rush?” comes the soothing response which, oddly enough, doesn’t assure him. But his tone is…different. Changed, somehow, but still deep; almost husky. Gavin finally hits the opposite wall, and nearly groans out loud - he was practically a walking horror movie on a budget. Michael steps up to him and reaches out, making the hair on his neck stand on end. His eyes lock on Michael’s, who just smiles wider, as his hand lands on his hip.

And then it clicks.

_You knob. He isn’t out to kill you._

Gavin knows he should push him off. Knows he should tell him no, should leave before it gets too weird. But he can’t say he hasn’t thought about it. About sex with a stranger, the anonymity and hint of danger often left him hot and bothered. And when Michael’s other hand reaches up around the back of his head and tugs him down, Gavin finds the fight in him gone and a dirty, buried desire starting to surface. Damn it all, he’d kick himself later.

Michael’s kiss is dominating, despite their height difference, and the hand on his hip curls in and locks in place, holding him there from an escape they both knew he wouldn’t try to make. It’s heady and Michael’s practically seducing him with just his lips and Christ but it’s  _working._

He feels himself get - well, he wouldn’t say  _pushed,_  because it was more like a gentle encouragement at the hip that he swayed to with less resistance than he should have -  _pressed_ towards the bed and he inched back, putting his hands on the ginger’s hips to steady himself until he met the bed. He opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and fell back onto the down comforter, a simple navy blue. He stared up at the man whom loomed over him, and thankfully his creepy smile was gone, replaced with a look he couldn’t quite read - perhaps desire, or anger, or worry, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it makes him burn, having to fight to maintain eye contact as Michael crawls onto the bed, prowling up his body predatorily. The curly-haired man pauses, and Gavin doesn’t even hesitate. His hand curls around his neck and arches his hips up, which Michael responds to by taking over again with a swiftness and ease that makes the Brit tremble and crushing their lipps together. Suddenly, hips roll against his own and he bucks, gasping in surprise and no small amount of need. His hands grab at Michael’s ass and pull him down again, grinding against him. The ginger bites his lip and he has to break the kiss to moan out, giving Michael enough time to rip their shirts off, duck down and bite hard at his shoulder, then nipping at his collarbone, sucking a patch on the side of his neck.

Already the man is undoing his trousers and pulling them off and Gavin is all but letting him, hands roaming up his back. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but he’s quickly fixed when a hand tangles in his hair and pulls, a mouth covering his to hide his whine. The other hand dips into his pants to pull them off without ceremony and takes his half-hard cock, twitching his fingers along the length, not quite stroking. He releases his mouth to slip down his body again, and Gavin can only watch with widened eyes as Michael takes him into his mouth. Just the tip, at first, resting on his lips, his tongue darting to it then away, then taking him down inch by inch. He couldn’t take him all the way, or didn’t want to, and used his hand on the rest of his dick, starting to bob his head and get rid of any rational thought Gavin had left. He’s talented with his tongue, that’s for sure, because it doesn’t take long for him to see stars.

He’s close, but Michael pulls away before he can actually reach his limit, and he can’t stop the pathetic whimper that passes his lips. But Michael instead pulls a bottle of lube from the drawer, eyes never leaving Gavin’s.

It makes his mouth go dry.

Something about being under that scrutinizing gaze makes him want to submit, want to please and be fucked and beg for more. He feels his thighs being guided apart, perhaps a little wider than needed, but the hungry look in the ginger’s eyes sends off any protest he could possibly have had. Gavin tilts his head up, and Michael obliges by kissing him, a distraction from the finger that ghosts at his entrance and suddenly it’s being pushed in and fuck, he wants this. It’s bad to want it, he knows it, but he can’t stop himself from relaxing under the touch and, when he’s comfortable with it, shifting his hips up for more. Michael’s responding chuckle is low and dark and it makes his cock twitch. Michael starts to slide his finger out, but his worries are abated when a second one joins in. He actually tenses for a moment, and Michael pauses to eye him carefully. He breathes out and wills himself to relax. The ginger starts kissing down his chest, nipping and biting and sucking little marks all over, taking a nipple into his mouth and ravishing it with practiced ease. He starts thrusting his fingers slowly, at first, until Gavin relaxes entirely and even starts enjoying it. He preps him efficiently, and gives a quick crook of his fingers, completely at ease despite the fact he’s making him want to scream. He’s languid and easy about it all, and damn if Gavin wants to fuck the look right off his face. So he rolls his hips down onto his fingers, practically glaring up at Michael, who unfortunately just smirks down at him and crooks his fingers again, effectively ridding him of his expression.

Time to switch tactics.

“Please,” he whispers, and Michael barely cocks a brow down at him. “Fuck me,” he says, a little louder, and the ginger grins devilishly.

Michael strips the rest of his clothing quickly, then rips a condom open with his teeth, rolling it on and applying generous amounts of lube. He grabs the back of Gavin’s thighs and hoists them up over his shoulders, leaving him feeling vulnerable and open. He trembles a bit, half nerves and half thrilling excitement, and Michael presses into him, very slowly.

He has to pause frequently, that same languid expression from before on his face, watching him carefully. When he finally bottoms out, Gavin is shaking harder and his chin is tucked into his chest. A hand guides his head up to look at Michael, and he kisses him - this time it’s almost tender, and very different from what he’s come to expect of the shorter man and just makes him impossibly harder. He kisses back with a newfound ferocity, and he almost becomes the dominating factor of the kiss.

_Almost._

A slap to the outside of his thigh puts him back into his place, and he backs down as Michael takes over again, wrestling his tongue back into his own mouth and delving further. He stays there a bit longer, waiting for Gavin to get accustomed, before he pulls out and thrusts in again. He sets a slow pace, practically dragging himself out and slowly rolling his hips back in, and Gavin finds himself arching back against him, a silent beg for more. Michael was happy to oblige, picking up his pace, tangling a hand in the Brit’s hair, simply keeping it there, a constant threat.

Finally Gavin growls. He’s teasing. Not going fast enough, not hard enough. He wants more, damnit, and he’s not getting it.   
“‘M not a kitten, Michael,” he reminds him, bucking his hips up harshly for emphasis. Michael snarls, pulls out, and flips Gavin onto his stomach. He grabs his hips and yanks them towards him, plunging in deep  and dragging his nails down his back and fucking him hard and fast and fuck this shouldn’t be as hot as it is but it has Gavin panting and letting out little sounds that are mostly nonsense. He supports himself on his elbows and lets his head hang, but Michael grabs him by the hair again - leading him to think that someone  _might_  have a certain kink - and yanks his head up, making him hiss.

Michael reaches down and starts stroking him, and it’s all Gavin can do to grasp the top blanket and fuck into his hand, keening in desperation. Every few thrusts or so Michael would sweep by or even, if he was lucky, hit on, his prostate and release a burble of words that could often be any mix of Michael’s name and nonsense. When he comes, it’s with Michael’s name on his lips, and its only a minute or so afterwards that the man is right along with him, growling out with a pained ferocity.

Gavin practically collapses when the ginger finally pulls out of him, barely registering that he’s thankful Michael caught his orgasm in his hands so he didn’t fall into a sticky, wet mess. Michael slipped into the bathroom with the silence of a shadow, and the Brit listened to the sound of the tap running and realized he was cleaning off. The shorter man returned from the bathroom and he actually got a good look at him - tattooed and stocky. Their eyes met and Gavin found himself looking away, submitting again. He swung his legs over the bed to stand, but Michael is there in a flash, a hand pressed against his shoulder and leaning down to kiss him, slow and tempting and all dark dominance despite the kiss’s innocent nature.

It makes a shiver run down his spine.


End file.
